


Bitter

by LeapAngstily



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Monto has issues, Rough Sex, Unprotected penetration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1559525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone else in Milan might buy Riccardo’s innocent act, but Clarence can see right through him. It does not mean he is immune to his captain’s charms, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitter

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for [this awesome prompt](http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/10208.html?thread=5508832#t5508832) at LiveJournal's Football Kink Meme.
> 
> Further inspiration from Seedorf’s [less than enthusiastic reaction](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/leapangstily/50857375/2378/2378_original.gif) after Monto’s goal against Catania.
> 
> Let’s make one thing clear right away: I make a point not to believe the rumours surrounding Seedorf (or Milan in general) unless there’s adequate proof supporting them. We know next to nothing about what is really happening in Milanello, and there’s no point speculating before something is made official. I’m only using the rumours as a base for this _made up premise_. This fic doesn’t actually have anything to do with my personal beliefs concerning the current situation.

“You know, for a guy trying to keep his job, you certainly like adding fuel to the flames,” Riccardo notes airily as Clarence closes the office door behind him, “Could’ve at least pretended to be happy when I scored.”  
  
Clarence fights the urge to snap at him, walking over to his desk and sitting down before finally answering, his voice carefully neutral, “I was happy, but it was just one goal and there was still over an hour left to play.”  
  
“So you’re saying you would’ve looked just as sour had it been, say, Mario who scored?” Riccardo pulls a chair from under the desk and turns it backwards, sitting down with his legs spread around each side of the backrest.  
  
Riccardo’s jeans look too tight like that, straining over his crotch, and Clarence has to force himself to look away. His stare does not go unnoticed, though, and Riccardo’s lips twitch into a knowing smirk.  
  
Everyone else in Milan might buy Riccardo’s innocent act, but Clarence can see right through him. Under that façade of a likeable, dependable young man lies a self-serving manipulator that is used to getting everything he wants.  
  
It is the man that rose into Milan captaincy within months of his transfer while making everyone believe he was actually surprised at the turn of events.  
  
“Why’d you call me here, anyways?” Riccardo inquires when he realizes Clarence is not going to take his bait, “Weren’t we supposed to get the day off?”  
  
It is exactly why Clarence decided to have this meeting today: the less possible ears to overhear this conversation the better. The last thing he needs is another leak to the media.  
  
“Why are you doing this?”  
  
Riccardo is looking around the room, at the photos and certificates lining the walls, obviously pretending he did not hear the question.  
  
Clarence is cursing inwardly, but he keeps the calm front up nonetheless, “You want me out. I think I deserve to know the reason.”  
  
Riccardo chuckles and finally turns his attention back to his coach, meeting his eyes steadily. He is smiling, but there is no warmth whatsoever in the expression when he replies softly, “Because I can.”  
  
Clarence knows he should not be surprised at anything Riccardo says to him anymore. He noticed there was something terribly messed up with the club captain the moment he returned to Milanello, something dangerous he could not quite place at the time.  
  
He found out soon enough, but even now he is left wondering just how deep the damage actually is.  
  
“I get it: you want control. You want power over me,” a statement, not a question, “But do you realize that it might be you who has to leave, not me?”  
  
“That’s cute,” Riccardo laughs, his eyes twinkling with faked adoration, “You tried to drop me off the team, but couldn’t. I already have power over you.”  
  
He is leaning closer now, the backrest of his chair tipped against Clarence’s desk. He does not break the eye contact, and neither does Clarence, stuck in the ice blue gaze – how fitting the colour really is for Riccardo.  
  
“You may control your little clique in the dressing room. You may even have power over Galliani,” Clarence counters in a low voice, “But you’ll never control me, Riccardo.”  
  
“Wanna bet?” Riccardo asks quietly before he tips the chair back to an upright position and gets up, rounding the desk slowly until he is standing over Clarence, looking down at him challengingly.  
  
Clarence lets out a breath he did not realize he was holding when Riccardo leans down, speaking right into his ear, “You’d already be out if I so wished. One word in a right place and it’ll be like you never signed that contract. I own you, _Clarence_.”  
  
Somehow the sound of his first name on Riccardo’s lips is almost venomous, like a personal insult to his authority.  
  
Clarence’s witty reply gets stuck in his throat – Riccardo is too close for comfort, close enough that Clarence can feel the warmth emitting from his body, and his breath against Clarence’s face feels almost like a caress.  
  
Riccardo smells shower fresh, with just a hint of shampoo and soap, the expensive stuff he keeps with him whenever the team travels because he prefers them over the ones offered in the hotels.  
  
Clarence breathes in the scent involuntarily, his mind automatically cataloguing the differences and similarities with the previous times.  
  
Riccardo is attractive, Clarence must give him that – he can fully see why everyone in the team, players and staff alike, would feel immediately drawn to him. If only his personality matched his looks.  
  
“I know what you’re thinking, Clarence,” Riccardo whispers, his lips brushing against Clarence’s earlobe, “I know you want to fuck me. How it pains you not to be able to fuck me. To have me so close and yet—”  
  
Clarence pushes him away from him much more violently than he intended. Riccardo does not even attempt to hide his laughter, glee shining from his eyes, well aware he managed to hit a nerve.  
  
Too much, it is all too much for Clarence. He cannot stay in the same room any longer, cannot stand how well Riccardo reads him, how easily he manages to get through his defences.  
  
“Get out,” he tells Riccardo in a low voice as he stands up and walks to the door to open it, pointedly rounding the desk from the opposite side from Riccardo, creating as much space between them as possible.  
  
“So soon?” Riccardo coos, his hip jutting to one side. His shirt is riding up, revealing a streak of skin below the hem, “I drove all the way here on my day off just because you requested it, and now you’re kicking me out? I’m disappointed, Clarence.”  
  
Clarence refuses to answer him, standing resolutely by the door, keeping it open so Riccardo can walk out as quickly as possible.  
  
However, instead of doing as Clarence wishes, Riccardo saunters over to him, his every step carefully controlled, making it seem like he is sliding over the floor.  
  
“Allegri used to fuck me on that desk, you know?” Riccardo reveals as he brushes against Clarence on his way out, all intentional, his whole body momentarily pressed up against Clarence’s, “Right there, where you keep the photos of your family.”  
  
That does it: Clarence can practically hear the last remains of his self-control snapping and he pushes the door closed forcefully, pinning Riccardo against it, not caring that the doorknob must be pressed painfully against his back.  
  
He is gripping Riccardo’s shoulders tight enough to make them bruise, but he does not care about that either. He just needs to get back at Riccardo, show him he can do whatever he likes, that Riccardo does not control him.  
  
Clarence knows his logic is flawed – him losing control like this is exactly the kind of reaction Riccardo was aiming for – but it does not stop him from kissing the captain forcefully, dominating the contact until Riccardo bites his lip, hard enough to draw blood.  
  
“You’re hurting me,” Riccardo says coldly, although he is smirking, licking the blood from his lips, and it should not be hot but fuck if Clarence is not getting harder from the mere sight.  
  
“See if I care,” he grabs a handful of Riccardo’s hair and tugs his head to the side to attack his neck, sucking and biting the pale skin until he is sure there will be marks remaining.  
  
Clarence can feel Riccardo’s erection pressed against his hip – the bastard is enjoying this, getting off from being violated – and he makes no attempt to hide his own arousal, bucking his hips against Riccardo’s to create some more friction.  
  
“You lasted longer than I would’ve thought,” Riccardo notes, sounding just slightly out of breath, “Max was all over me just after the first two weeks.”  
  
“Shut up,” Clarence tells him, tugging on his hair for a good measure before taking a hold of his arm and pulling him off the door, pressing him unceremoniously onto the desk, face down, ass up in the air, “I don’t care what that idiot did to you. Had he not been so busy lusting over you, maybe the team wouldn’t be in such a horrible shape now.”  
  
“And yet you’re doing the exactly same thing,” Riccardo giggles as Clarence reaches around him to open his fly and pull his jeans and boxers down to his thighs.  
  
“I told you to shut up,” Clarence slaps Riccardo’s buttock sharply to emphasize the point, to show him who is in charge now.  
  
The hand lotion on his desk is not ideal for lubricant, but it is the best thing he has at hand. It might not ease the friction enough for Riccardo’s comfort, but it should be enough to prevent worst damage so that Riccardo will not have to miss any practice.  
  
“Fuck,” Riccardo grits out when Clarence pushes two fingers inside him at once, not at all concerned of the pain he might be causing. If power play is what Riccardo wants, he should also be prepared to take the consequences.  
  
Riccardo is tense – Clarence can feel his body clenching around his fingers – but his cock is still fully hard when Clarence reaches his free hand to stroke it in attempt to make him relax, to make the entrance easier.  
  
“Ever heard of ‘going slowly’?” Riccardo asks in a constrained voice as Clarence scissors his fingers inside him before pulling them out and opening his own trousers, “What if I were a virgin and you really hurt me?”  
  
“You’re asking for it,” Clarence replies simply, pulling his own erection out and coating it with the hand lotion. He does not wait for Riccardo’s answers before positioning the tip against the puckered entrance and pushing in all the way in one swift move.  
  
“Fuck!” Riccardo gasps at the intrusion, his body clenching around Clarence’s cock almost painfully, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck  _fuck_!”  
  
“Oh, I intend to,” Clarence assures him in a low voice, leaning forwards against Riccardo’s back so he can speak into his ear. He takes a fast hold of Riccardo’s hips, pulling back slowly before driving his cock back into the clenching heat with even more power than the first time.  
  
Riccardo’s whole body is shaking against Clarence. His hips are squirming just slightly in Clarence’s hold, as if trying to pull away. He is not letting out any more sounds though, and Clarence is almost disappointed even though just moments ago he would have given anything to make Riccardo shut up.  
  
“You’re beautiful like this, writhing under me,” he whispers in half-mock, half-truth, “I might even learn to like you if you could keep your mouth shut more often.”  
  
“Fuck you,” Riccardo spits out, although the words are swallowed in a loud whimper when Clarence starts pounding into him with strong, deliberate movements, driving himself all the way in with each push.  
  
Riccardo is obviously making an effort to stay silent, only odd moans and whines escaping his lips as Clarence picks up his pace. The clenching around his cock is getting even more intense, even though Riccardo has visibly relaxed after getting over the initial shock of entrance.  
  
“Come, Riccardo,” Clarence tells him in his most commanding voice, reaching for Riccardo’s cock to jerk him off in time with his thrusts, “Come for me.”  
  
Riccardo looks like he wants to insult Clarence again, but instead of words he lets out a guttural moan and spills his cum against the dark wood of Clarence’s desk.  
  
The sudden pressure on Clarence’s cock is too much, too tight, too intense, and he comes inside Riccardo with a suppressed groan, his hands leaving angry marks on Riccardo’s hips.  
  
Riccardo sags against the tabletop when Clarence pulls his softening cock out and tugs it back into his trousers. He notes with sick satisfaction that his cum is dripping down Riccardo’s thigh along with a minimal amount of blood.  
  
“Get up,” he tells Riccardo without giving him time to catch his breath, “I want you out of my sight, you dirty freak.”  
  
“That’s rich, coming from you,” Riccardo sniggers, but drags himself off the desk nonetheless, pulling his jeans back on casually like getting fucked by your coach was an everyday occurrence for him.  
  
Considering their earlier conversation, it probably is.  
  
“Get out,” Clarence orders more forcefully, the embarrassment at his earlier actions finally catching up with him. He had completely lost control, let Riccardo play him.  
  
“Yeah, I’m going,” Riccardo waves off Clarence’s command cheerfully, stepping into his personal space and pressing up against him before Clarence actually realizes what is happening.  
  
“You know,” Riccardo says gently, his lips so close to Clarence’s that they are brushing against each other with every word, “Sexual harassment is a serious offence. You sure you wanna leave Milan with that kind of a reputation?”  
  
Clarence pushes him off, satisfied to see Riccardo stumbling a little before finding his balance again, “So you’re gonna run to the press now? You think they won’t ask for the other side of the story?”  
  
“I don’t need to say anything to the media,” Riccardo replies with an innocent smile, “People talk. Leaks happen. I own you, Clarence.”  
  
He slips out of the door before Clarence has a chance to say anything else, saving Clarence the trouble of admitting the bitter defeat.


End file.
